


a fire in us

by hereforlou



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Long-Distance Friendship, M/M, Masturbation, Phone Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-19
Updated: 2018-07-19
Packaged: 2019-06-12 17:52:25
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,179
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15345264
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hereforlou/pseuds/hereforlou
Summary: Louis had always thought it wouldn’t catch him off-guard. If he ever got his Time, he would be ready, and he would be calm, and he would make his way to wherever his soulmate waited for him and blow them away with how ready and calm he was.When he got his Time on that Monday, years after he had stopped fantasizing about meeting his soulmate, Louis was not ready, and he was not calm. What he was was late.(Or, the one where Harry waits and Louis worries.)





	a fire in us

**Author's Note:**

  * For [lovelarry10](https://archiveofourown.org/users/lovelarry10/gifts).



> Thank you [Maggie](https://archiveofourown.org/users/amomentoflove/works) for your help! 
> 
> Written for [Lovelarry10](https://archiveofourown.org/users/lovelarry10/pseuds/lovelarry10)’s prompt: _You’re given a time and a place you’re gonna meet your soulmate but lou is running late and he’s panicking that he'll miss him (him being Harry!) Smut please!_
> 
> Hope you like it!
> 
> Here's a [Tumblr](https://hereforlou.tumblr.com/post/179260138456/a-fire-in-us-complete-12k-louis-had-always) post.

It was a Monday when Louis’ Time showed up.

Louis had always thought it wouldn’t catch him off-guard. If he ever got his Time, he would be ready, and he would be calm, and he would make his way to wherever his soulmate waited for him and would blow them away with how ready and calm he was.

Louis was also the complete opposite of self-aware while growing up.

When he got his Time on that Monday, years after he had stopped fantasizing about meeting his soulmate, Louis was not ready, and he was not calm. He was late.

Soulmarks were a bitch, was the thing. They came up out of nowhere, stayed on you for no one-knew how long, and if you missed them, as most people did, you had to wait for your next chance, if you ever got one at all. Louis used to stress about it when he was a kid. Used to imagine his soulmate visiting from abroad and passing through his town and never coming back and Louis missing the mark because he was sleeping, or in school and covered by his uniform, or a million different other terrible scenarios.

His mum, he knew, never met her soulmate even though she had seen her mark once, just as it was fading from the crook of her elbow. His friend, Liam, had his mark stamped on his forehead for an entire day and only realized when a shop attendant pointed it out to him, and the time scribbled on his face had long since passed. The useless mark stayed on him until right after midnight, and Liam had never seen it appear again.

Harry said he had seen his mark once when he was little. He swore he had seen words scrawled in messy writing on his belly when he was at the beach, but he’d been five and unable to read anything other than his name. When he’d swam all the way over and asked his older sister to read it for him, the words were gone.

Harry also said that his own mum had met her soulmate after marrying and divorcing Harry’s dad. He said that he knew people who had met their soulmates really, really young and really, really old. He knew people who had missed their Time over and over again until they managed to get it right. He even knew people who had gotten their mark when they were already happy with someone else, and who had let the chance to meet them go.

 _I don’t think you know that many people_ , Louis had written back. _And who would let their SOULMATE go? Their SOULMATE._

 _U don’t have to scream SOULMATE at me, i didn’t do anything,_ Harry replied, already in a strop.

The mere idea of purposely missing the chance upset Louis. He didn’t know a single person who had met their soulmate and couldn’t imagine giving it up. At the time, Louis was fifteen and a secret romantic. He didn’t know of any other boy his age as obsessed with soulmates as he was, except for Harry, whom he had never met in person but was probably his best friend by then. They had been penpals for ages - a year six project that Louis had taken too seriously - and had graduated to text messages as soon as they’d both gotten their first mobile phones.

 _I’m not going to date anyoen other than my sm ever,_ Louis wrote, fifteen and horny ninety percent of the time, already dating a girl from his year because she had asked and all their friends had been watching.

 _Really?_ Harry’s next message read, fourteen and always following Louis’ lead, even if they lived in different towns and didn’t even know what the other looked like. _I won’t either then. It’s proper romantic that way. like in a film_

Louis had spent his early teens reading his mother’s romance novels in secret. He’d read stories about love so deep it defied reason, about couples who had everything against them but came out on top in the end. Waiting for your soulmate seemed romantic, poetic maybe - there were books and books worth of stories, films and series revolving around the sheer magic of it - but Louis still felt guilty for planting the idea of _waiting_ in Harry’s head.

 _What if u don’t ever meet them?_ Louis asked, sitting up in bed.

 _I’ll meet them_ , was Harry’s reply.

_But what if u don’t???_

_I WILL !!_

Harry didn’t write back for a couple of days after that, no matter how many memes Louis sent him. Harry just knew too many people who’d had happy endings, and Louis knew he hated the thought of never getting his own. Louis was in the same boat, except he was older and had to be the voice of reason: the chances of actually getting to meet one’s soulmate were very slim. Wishing it with all your heart didn’t tip the scale your way.

When Harry finally wrote back the following weekend, he seemed in a better mood.

_my cousin called she met hers this morning_

The words made Louis’ belly swoop. He wasn’t sure if it was because Harry was talking to him again or because of what he was saying. Louis didn’t know anyone as surrounded by happy endings as Harry seemed to be. Maybe Harry was good luck.

 _Ur good luck,_ Louis wrote, so relieved Harry was back his heart pounded in his chest. _You’ ll meet yours for sure_

Harry sent him a string of smiley faces and changed the subject. Louis didn’t dare to mention the possibility of not meeting their soulmates ever again and Harry kept sending him updates on every relative and friend and neighbour who met theirs as if each one that did meant his was getting closer.

Meanwhile, Louis snuggled close to his girlfriend at school, painfully aware that she was not The One and trying not to let it bother him. A part of him, the hopeless romantic (the one that gushed about love stories with Harry over text and teared up at the end of corny films) resented her just for being the placeholder. There was someone out there who fit under the crook of his arm like a puzzle piece, who always got his sense of humour, who would like Louis even when he was being loud and annoying, or when he was quiet and wanted to be left alone. Kissing someone who wasn’t meant to be his forever didn’t feel right at all.

Harry didn’t know about Louis’ girlfriend, but he agreed with Louis in theory. He said he wanted to save his first real kiss for his soulmate, and there was something Louis found so brave about a fourteen-year-old admitting proudly that he was saving himself that he never dared to tease Harry about it.

He wondered if Harry would still talk to him everyday like they’d been doing for years when he met his soulmate, or if Louis was also a placeholder. Maybe they’d meet both their soulmates at the same time and wouldn’t notice each other’s absence. Louis preferred not to think about it either way.

But when he did think about the day he got his mark, Louis always pictured sunshine and butterflies and warmth. Instead, it was grey and wet and a _Monday_ when Louis’ Time finally came up. Louis had to go into work early because three people were calling in sick and it was the end of the month and he had piles of invoices to go through and dozens of emails from impatient suppliers to reply to.

The first thing he saw when he stepped out of his flat and onto the street was a woman around his age standing across the road, looking around anxiously. She saw Louis approaching and her eyes went wide, her mouth parted, and Louis’ stomach dropped. It was always awkward to be mistaken by someone’s soulmate. It was always a little sad and a little scary, because what if Louis’ matching mark was somewhere he couldn’t see and he was walking past someone who looked at him with such hope in their eyes Louis’ had to look away?

 _my grocer told me his cousin got his mark on his penis,_ Harry had written once, when Louis was seventeen. _He saw it when he went to take a wee_

 _Thatd be a weird story to share at ur wedding,_ Louis wrote back with a grin, and then checked his prick, just in case. It looked the same as it always did.

 _Now i want to check all the time_ , Harry said.

_don’t forget ur bum !_

Louis had no idea what Harry looked like - his profile picture was an artsy shot of a sunset and they both kept their social media accounts set on private, had both promised not to stalk each other to keep the mystery alive - but the thought of a faceless boy checking his own arse in a mirror made him go hot under the collar. He had a boyfriend by then. He had realised girls weren’t for him the year before and the first person he had come out to had been Harry.

 _Haz_ , he’d typed carefully, when he knew Harry was in the middle of a guitar lesson and wouldn’t check his phone for hours, _I think I want my soulmate to be a boy._

Harry replied ten minutes later, nearly giving Louis a heart attack. But when Louis had peered at the screen of his phone, the big block of text had made him smile.

_Lou, me too! I’m sorry i didn’t tell u before. It just feels like it HAS to be a boy. And he will be! My friend from work didn’t know she liked girls but she met her sm last wkend and shes a girl of course and theyre really happy. The universe will know who’s perfect for you! <3 _

Louis was speechless for a few minutes, unable to think of what to say next. He never thought for a second that Harry would be an arsehole about it, but he never imagined that he would come out to Louis, too.

 _The universe already does,_ he sent, cheeks warm and lip trapped between his teeth.

_Aaaw, you sap :)_

  
  
  
By the time Louis got his mark on that Monday, he had already given up on it. His teens were long gone, his twenties were over, and he felt like the universe didn’t give a shit. For all he knew, his soulmate was living in Tasmania.

“I’m sure he’s closer than that, Lou,” Harry told him, in that deep voice of his that had shocked Louis the first time he’d heard it. (He’d been drunk on his eighteenth birthday and calling Harry because he should be part of Louis’ passage to proper adulthood. Harry had picked up and it had taken a long time for Louis to believe it was really him.) “It’s just taking some time. Look at me, I haven’t gotten mine either and I’m not sulking.”

“That’s because you’re a twenty-nine-year-old _baby_. I am over the hill, Harry. I’ll be losing my hair next, putting my teeth in a glass by the bed at night.”

Harry’s embarrassing honk of a laugh cheered Louis up a bit.

“You’re thirty, Lou, not a hundred. I’m sure you’re still fit.”

“You don’t even know if I ever was fit.”

“I know you are. I know your soul and it’s beautiful.”

“Oh, my God,” Louis groaned, going red. “You’re so embarrassing.”

“M’just being honest.”

Yeah, that was Harry’s trademark, honest, stubborn, and lovely. When he turned eighteen himself and went out for his first legal pint, he called Louis just like Louis had done the year before. He sang Happy Birthday to himself like a tit and then slurred in Louis’ ear that he was going home with a boy that night.

“Ya think it’ll be less special? When I meet _‘im_ for real?” He asked, words tangling up together so that Louis had to strain to understand. “Cuz I wanna wait but I also really, really wanna have _sex_. Would y’be angry with me?”

“No, Haz. You can do whatever you want. But not tonight, yeah? You’re plastered.”

“But I said I’d _wait_ ,” he whined. “Lou, I _lied_. I’ve kissed _so_ many people, Lou. Kissing is so _nice_ , I _had_ to.”

Stifling a laugh, Louis rolled over so that his mobile was between his ear and his pillow. His boyfriend at the time was sleeping on the other side of the bed and wasn’t a fan of Louis’ late-night conversations with another boy.

“It’s okay, Harry. I’ve kissed lots of people, too. I broke my promise, too.”

Harry’s dramatic gasp had Louis biting his finger to keep himself from laughing too loud.

“You’ve kissed- You’ve sex, too? You’ve had that?”

Louis squirmed a little and lowered his voice.

“Yeah.”

Another gasp, this one longer and louder, and Louis laughed.

“Then I have to, too.”

“You can, Harry, but not tonight, mate. Don’t have sex with someone who’d shag you three sheets to the wind.”

“Alright,” Harry agreed and Louis sighed in relief. “But I’m having sex tomorrow and you can’t stop me!”

He proclaimed the last part loudly, and Louis could just picture him - his faceless best mate, sitting at a pub table shouting about having sex to a room full of people.

“Let’s see how you feel tomorrow first,” Louis said and then heard the clatter of Harry’s mobile falling to the floor or the table before the line went dead.

The following day, Harry sent him an audio message at noon, his croaking voice low and wrecked.

“I’m dead, Louis. This is me speaking from beyond the grave. There won’t be any sex today. And we’ll talk about all the _stuff_ you’ve been doing behind my back when I’m done puking my guts out. Happy birthday to me.”

Louis was nineteen and living in a dirty old flat near his university then. He had a boyfriend of two months and three flatmates he hardly ever saw. He was doing okay in his classes, not amazing but not awful, either. He talked to Harry every day and lived off of the leftovers he found in the fridge, no matter who they belonged to.

Harry called him the night after his birthday, sounding just like his regular self.

“I’ve come back from the dead,” he said, in that morbid voice of his that made Louis picture a rough, thick-necked rugby player instead of the fragile princess Louis knew he really was. Maybe he was a fragile, thick-necked princess who played rugby. Louis didn't know. “And you’re a filthy, filthy liar.”

“Yeah,” Louis agreed, only slightly embarrassed. “My pants are definitely feeling a bit warm.”

Harry laughed and Louis smiled. He was home alone, lying under his covers, a film paused on his laptop. It was something romantic about soulmates from different social classes who kept bumping into each other and missing their marks because of their stuffy, old-timey clothes. Louis had seen it before, had even watched it with Harry a few times, their phones on speakerphone so they could keep up the commentary.

“So,” Harry said. Louis heard rustling and assumed he was also in bed. Harry still lived at home, wouldn’t leave for uni until September that year, and his voice was always hushed when they spoke this late. “You’ve had sex.”

“I have.”

“And you didn’t tell me, mmh,” Harry said thoughtfully, as if he was stroking his chin, trying to figure out Louis’ reasons. He was ridiculous.

“Well, I made a vow to wait for my soulmate. Couldn’t let you know I’m actually a fake.”

“Well, I think waiting is kinda romantic,” Harry said, growing serious now. “But I still really, really want to try it.”

“It is quite nice.”

“Yeah?”

Louis rolled his eyes.

“You’ve had the sex talk with every person you’ve ever met, me included. You’re not prying any details out of me, lad.”

For someone who wasn’t planning on having sex anytime soon, Harry had always been extremely curious about it. Or maybe that was the reason why he was so curious. He had been the kind of kid that sought out his parents to ask awkward questions instead of suffering through the sex talk like most people did.

“But we were thirteen when we talked about it last,” Harry argued. “You’ve got experience now. With _boys_. You can tell me, like, if it really hurts or if it’s, like, dirty and stuff. And you’ve given blowjobs,” he whispered the word, “and you can tell me if the taste is weird or how does it, um, fit. Because, like, I’ve got a big mouth, I think, but I don’t think I could fit my prick in-”

“Okay!” Louis cut him off with a nervous laugh. “Too many questions, Haz. Too many assumptions, as well.”

“Sorry,” Harry mumbled, and then, “So, you haven’t bottomed? Or you haven’t given a blowjob? I’m still curious about _getting_ one because, like, teeth.”

Louis laughed, amused despite the way he was burning up in embarrassment.

“What happened with going out and getting some experience yourself?”

“Well,” Harry mumbled. “Well, I don’t know.”

“Why?”

“Does it feel weird? To do it with the wrong person? ‘Cause kissing is okay but I keep thinking that I’m only getting, like, a fraction of the real feeling, you know? And I don’t know if I want my first time to be...disappointing.”

“Your first time could also be disappointing with your soulmate. Most first times are, aren’t they?”

“No,” Harry said, the steel Louis had learned to look out for when they talked about these things sneaking into his voice. “It’s gonna be perfect with him.”

“And what if you meet him when you’re both too old to get it up anymore?”

“Then we’ll hold hands and it’ll be perfect anyway,” Harry said, resolute.

Louis sighed, but he still couldn’t help but admire Harry. Louis couldn't stand the thought of missing out on anything while he waited, especially because he wasn’t even sure he’d ever see his mark. Harry definitely had enough faith for both of them.

They were quiet for a few seconds. Louis heard the rustling of Harry rolling over in bed as he stared at the frozen image on his laptop. The main characters were arguing, and you could see the mark on the back of the woman’s neck, even if they couldn’t. Louis scratched at his own neck and shook off the urge to check in the mirror.

“It does feel a little weird,” he finally admitted. “But it also feels really good, so.”

“You’ve got a boyfriend, Lou?” Harry asked softly.

“Yeah.”

“What if he gets his mark and you're already in love?”

Louis had to scoff.

“Who said anything about falling in love? I’m saving _that_ for my soulmate.”

 

His boyfriend at the time didn’t get his mark, but he did break up with Louis two months later, all over a pair of socks.

 _My soulmate is going to share every fucking thing with me_ , he sent Harry. _Everythings gonna be ours_

 _I like that_ , Harry sent back. _Not mine or yours. Ours :)_

Louis knew he was being ridiculous, he was talking about a pair of socks, for fuck’s sake, but he still got a lump in his throat when he read Harry’s words. He was the only one who really understood. Louis loved him.

 

But anyway, it was a Monday when Louis’ Time came up.

He was going in to work early and had to avoid the eye of a woman waiting across the road, her hand clasped over her forearm. It was drizzling and Louis had left his umbrella in the tube the day before. He was thirty and single and in a bad mood.

When he got to work, he sat at his desk and texted Harry good morning and wished him luck on his trip. He was going out of town for an interview, he’d said, and he’d probably be unavailable all day. Louis opened his laptop and was about to go to the break-room for some tea when a phone started ringing.

The office was empty and he was already standing, so he jogged to where the ringing was coming from and picked up.

It was for Paula, which made sense, since it was her desk, and it was urgent, a doctor’s appointment switched from four to one in the afternoon. Louis picked up a pen and scribbled the message on his palm - he’d send her a text about it after he got his tea.

Harry had told him once that he’d read of a girl who got her mark in parts, one number of the date and time on the tip of a different finger, the place curling around her wrist, all appearing on different moments of the day. He showed Louis photos that he’d found in the newspaper and Louis told him not to believe everything he read.

Years later, Harry called him in the middle of the day and said, “Finger girl found her soulmate. She got her mark on the sole of her foot, backwards. She had to use a mirror to read it.”

“That’s rubbish, Haz. She just wants attention.”

“Imagine if your mark is like a puzzle. And you have to solve it before it vanishes.”

“What if you do it wrong and end up with someone else’s soulmate?”

“No,” Harry said. “No, you’d feel it’s wrong as soon as you saw them.”

Harry had gone back to his original plan of waiting for the Right One quite quickly after his talk with Louis. It was hilarious to listen to him pine, lusting after fit boys in his classes, his uni professors, shop attendants. It was also concerning, especially when he went out drinking with his friends and called Louis, drunk and horny, asking him to talk him out of going home with someone or other.

Harry had gone to Leeds for university, and Louis was all the way down in Bristol, unable to go get him himself. He had convinced Harry to give him one of his closest uni friends’ number and so Louis had to usually resort to calling an Irish bloke named Niall to wrangle Harry home.

They were on the phone one Sunday afternoon, Louis sprawled on his living room’s ancient sofa in a t-shirt and briefs because his flat didn’t have air conditioner and he was dying. Harry was whining in his ear. Louis was annoyed by the heat, still nursing the remnants of a hangover, and he had little patience for Harry and his silly, self-imposed problems.

“You’re twenty bloody years old, Harry. Pick someone, go on a date and get laid, _please_. Put us out of our misery.”

“You know it’s not that easy,” Harry pouted and Louis softened immediately. Damn Harry and his voice, slow like molasses and so fucking endearing to Louis, no matter how flat.

“It _is_ that easy, as long as you’re sober and consenting. Niall told me you’re getting close to that bloke from work, Adam or Alan or something.”

“Aiden, and we’re not.”

“He said you were snogging during your break,” Louis teased, lying through his teeth.

“We weren’t!”

“Mm, so defensive.”

“Lou, stop. And don’t make me think about snogging, I’m already, um…”

“You’re already what?”

“Don’t make me say it,” Harry said and this time the whimper in his voice sounded a lot more honest.

“What? You’re hard?”

“Shut up.”

“Just from a little snog in the employees restroom?”

“We didn’t!”

Louis smiled to himself, enjoying how breathless Harry got when he was being teased. He scratched his belly underneath his shirt, wincing at how sticky his skin was.

“So, what? You’re hard just from hearing my voice?”

There was a pause.

“...no. Already was when you called.”

“Really.”

“Yeah,” Harry sniffed.

“Been wanking a lot?”

He wanted to embarrass Harry a bit because he was starting to feel awkward himself and that wasn’t how they worked. But instead of spluttering like Louis was expecting, Harry sounded calm when he spoke next.

“Yeah,” he breathed. “M’getting all, like, chafed.”

Louis was surprised into a laugh.

“You know lube’s your best friend, Haz. Want me to ask Niall to bring you some?”

“I’ve got lube. Really nice one, smells like strawberries.”

Louis laughed again but couldn’t help but be endeared all over again.

“Why’s your poor willy hurting then?”

“You’re a twat,” Harry told him but Louis could hear the smile in his voice. He grinned and rubbed his thigh with his free hand. Fuck, it was hot. He was sticking to the sofa.

“Maybe you’re doing it wrong,” Louis said, lazy and thinking of taking a nap. “Need help or something.”

“Okay,” Harry said, quick. “Help me, then.”

Time stopped for a minute or two as Louis tried to make sense of what he was hearing. He sat up, his shirt plastered to his back.

“Are you asking me to...coach you?”

“Yeah, if you’re so sure I’m doing something wrong. I’m not gonna shag anyone so I might as well have some company.”

“Ha ha. Alright, Haz.”

“I’m serious. It’ll be nice to have someone with me. Might calm me down a bit.”

“Are you really that desperate? That can’t be healthy, Harry.”

“I _know_ , Lou. That’s why you have to help me.”

“Doing what?”

“I told you, help me. Tell me what to do.”

“You don’t need instructions, you can-” There was a noise, a rustle and a groan, and Louis’ mouth went dry. “You really want me to-”

“If you want to,” Harry said and fuck, he already sounded out of breath. “If you don’t, hang up now, ‘cause I’ve already taken my pants off.”

Harry was shameless. Louis knew that before, had always known it. He liked to be teased, liked to be embarrassed because Louis had the feeling very little could actually, honestly embarrass him. They had talked about wanking before, back when it was something new they had figured out how to do. They used to talk about it in code, afraid of their teachers looking at their letters, but they had never _done it together_.

“Jesus, Harry,” Louis mumbled and then got up and hurried to his room, locking the door behind him. His room was sweltering, even with the window open all the way. “Are you really hard?”

“Yeah.”

“Got your cock in your hand?” Louis breathed.

“Yeah…”

“Let go,” Louis said, and plopped himself on his messy bed.

“Ngh, _why_?”

“I’m the boss here, aren’t I? Let go of your prick and find your bloody strawberry lube, please. You’re doing this right.”

If Louis was doing this, he was going to be in control. He was older and experienced and Harry didn’t fluster him, _he_ flustered Harry.

Harry groaned at Louis’ directions, but he moved away from the phone and there was some fumbling noises, some clattering. A minute later, he was back.

“Got it,” he said, and Louis ignored the voice in his head telling him this was weird and settled against his pillows, free hand behind his head, legs splayed so that his thighs didn’t stick together with sweat.

“Good,” he said and heard Harry sigh. “Now, how do you usually do this?”

“Do what?”

Louis rolled his eyes.

“Wank, you tit.”

“I don't know, Lou, I just...wank. Nothing fancy.”

“Come on, Harry, you started this. D’you get on your back? Knees up or down? Do you hump the mattress, do you use lube the whole time or d’ya like it dry better? Ever...touch somewhere else?”

Louis sounded confident but he was sweating, his body overheating like crazy. He put the phone on speaker and pulled his damp shirt over his shoulders. Harry didn’t speak for a few seconds and Louis was afraid he had scared him off before he piped up again.

“I-I…don’t know,” he stuttered and Louis could picture him already touching himself even though he’d been told not to.

“Haz, put your hands up,” he ordered. There was the thump of Harry dropping his phone somewhere and Louis laughed. When he heard Harry pick the phone up again, he said, “Stop bloody wanking for a second and answer me. Thought you wanted me to coach you.”

Harry said nothing, but Louis could hear him breathing through the receiver.

“Now, put me on speakerphone and get the lube.” He waited for a moment. “Got it? Pour some on your hand and slick your cock up, come on. Get it nice and wet.”

He had to bite down on a laugh - he’d never talked to anyone like that, not even his boyfriends. Sex was good, great, amazing, but it was also a little lonely when it was nothing more than a way to get off. A lot of the time it felt not that much different from wanking, actually. The other person was there, but not really. Maybe Harry had a point about it being special when you did it with the right person.

Or maybe Harry had crawled under Louis’ skin after years of talking to each other, and all his idealized fantasies about soulmates were starting to make sense to Louis in a weird, Pavlovian way.

“Done?” he asked and heard Harry hum in response. “How hard are you?”

“Very,” Harry mumbled. “Like, my dick hurts a little.”

“Okay, then we’re not gonna touch it for now.”

“What?”

“Having sex with someone other than my hand helped me figure out what I like, what feels good and stuff. Maybe you can explore a bit. Do things you normally don’t do.”

“Like what?”

“Well, I don’t know what you normally do, so.”

“I told you, I just wank. Get on my back and pull on my cock. That’s it.”

“No toys, then?” Harry choked and Louis smirked. “Never try getting on your stomach? Never try getting a finger up your bum?”

“M-maybe,” Harry confessed, a squeak more than anything else.

Louis looked up at the ceiling, smiling a little too wide for the situation but he couldn’t help it. It was Harry. “Go on,” he prompted.

“I’ve only tried a few times. Just fingers, I don’t, I don’t own any _toys_ , Jesus.”

“How many? Fingers.”

“Two,” Harry gasped and Louis had to reprimand him again, absolutely certain Harry was not following orders.

“You’re bad at this. I’d tie you up if I were there.” He heard Harry groan, put off at being scolded. “Let go of your dick.”

“I’m not- you said...my bum….”

Louis’ throat went dry and he was slightly horrified to feel his own cock stirring, heat starting to gather low in his belly. This was not supposed to be doing anything for him, but here he was, getting hard from picturing Harry (faceless, mysterious Harry) touching his own arsehole at Louis’ command.

“Got a finger in?” Louis asked, and he barely recognised his own voice.

“A little bit,” Harry panted, and then laughed for no reason, nervous and muffled as if he was face down on his pillow.

“I can get up to three,” Louis admitted, palming the front of his pants. “If I’m feeling inspired, but it’s always so much better when someone else does it for me.”

“Wouldn’t know,” Harry said, strained and higher than Louis had ever heard him.

“No, guess you wouldn’t,” Louis sighed. He put his hands on his stomach and listened to Harry finger himself, as if this was something they did all the time. He ignored how hard he was getting just from the little sounds Harry made, little groans and little huffs, all crackled and full of static.

“Are you still on your back?”

“On my side,” Harry said. “S’harder on m’back.”

“Try getting on your belly. Get your knees under yourself and spread your legs.”

He heard the rustle of Harry moving around, and then, very faint, the slick sound of Harry’s hand moving on his cock, fast. His own prick twitched but Louis refused to touch himself. He had to maintain some sort of distance here.

“It hurts my neck like this,” Harry whined, but his breathing was laboured, and Louis knew the position wasn’t stopping him.

“You still touching your bum, Haz?”

“No, no, just m’cock, on my knees, you s-said,” Harry stammered, and Louis swallowed imagining Harry, pulling on his cock with his arse in the air as if waiting for someone to touch him-

“You need a toy to keep you full, closest to the real thing if you’re not gonna go find a dick attached to, like, a person.”

“ _Louis_ ,” Harry whimpered, sounding indignant.

“No, I know. You want it to be special. Want fireworks and magic and, and a miracle, don’t you.” Louis closed his eyes and dug his fingers into his belly to keep himself from reaching down. “Want the person that’s gonna be yours forever to be the first-”

Harry gasped, loud and all choked up, and then let out a moan, strained and high. Louis listened, eyes still closed, his body warm and his blood thrumming.

“You just came, didn’t you?” He said into the silence that followed.

“Sorry,” Harry mumbled, sounding anything but. There was a smile in his voice, his drawl even more pronounced than usual.

“You’re bad at this,” Louis told him, trying not to think about how now he knew what Harry sounded like when he came and how it didn't feel strange at all.

“I don’t know, that felt quite good, actually.”

“Yeah? Enjoyed the company?”

“Very much.”

They lapsed into silence, Harry still regaining his breath and shuffling about in bed and Louis rubbing his hands up and down his damp torso and willing his erection to go away. He wondered if Harry was under the covers now and decided that it wasn’t important and that he had already thought too much about what Harry was doing with his body.

“Is this weird?” Harry asked a few moments later, voice back to normal but hushed, like he used to talk late at night when he still lived at home and his parents were only a room away. He was in a dorm now, a shoebox of a single that at least allowed him to talk to Louis in the wee hours of the night without worrying about waking anybody up.

It wasn’t late at night, though. The sun was still up and shining and Louis had to wonder if anyone out in the hallways had heard Harry coming.

“I, no, I don’t think so,” Louis said. He didn’t exactly feel any different towards Harry now. He just knew a little more about him. “Do you feel weird?”

“Not really. T’was fun.”

“Yeah,” Louis agreed, staring down at his crotch, the hard line of his cock visible through his pants, pressed along his thigh.

“I’ll do what you say next time,” Harry said in a sleepy slur and Louis’ mind drew to a halt. _Next time?_ “Was just so hard before, couldn’t wait.”

“Right,” Louis said in a reedy voice and had to clear his throat. “You’re very bad at taking directions.”

“Rude,” Harry mumbled and soon after, the line went dead. Harry had a tendency to fall asleep on him at the worst times, but this time Louis didn’t hold it against him. It sounded like he’d worn himself out. Besides, Louis needed to get off and he couldn't with Harry listening. He just...couldn’t.

It was strange how not strange things remained between them after that. No matter what he’d told Harry, at the very back of his mind, Louis had been expecting everything to turn awkward eventually. But Harry was so earnest an unashamed, and Louis cared about him so much, that everything remained more or less the same.

That is, except for the phone sex.

But nevermind about that. It was a busy, miserable Monday when Louis got his soulmark. It had just gone lunch time, and normally Louis would have been on his feet and hurrying outside to the deli across the street. But they were overworked and understaffed that Monday, and Louis had lost track of time trying to figure out a purchase order someone else had mucked up.

He was squinting at his laptop, scrolling down rows and rows of numbers, when his nose started itching. He wiggled it and tried to ignore it. A minuted later, he scratched it against his shoulder. Two minutes later he could feel a sneeze coming on, and he went to pinch his nostrils shut (a bad habit, according to his mother) when something caught his eye. He checked his palm and saw the scribble he had put there that morning in black pen.

Underneath, in the same colour, was something else.

Louis felt his heart lurch before it started pounding, hard against his ribs. He stared at the barely legible letters in unfamiliar writing, the time stamped there, the place.

 **23 04**  
**13:21**  
**laDrsullsiTgh4 BridgMhSfe**

Louis checked the time on his laptop. It was 1:02 pm.

He got up, eyes on his palm. He had no idea what his mark said, all tangled up with his own writing from earlier. He felt a little sick with excitement - or was it trepidation? He wanted to call Harry right away, but he was probably in the middle of his big interview. In a moment of clarity, a stroke of genius, really, Louis picked up his phone and slid his finger on the screen to open the camera app. He took a shaky picture of his palm, and then another, slightly clearer.

It was 1:04 pm.

“Um,” he said out loud. “Anyone.”

He couldn’t look away from his hand long enough to check who remained in the office with him, but he heard someone asking him what was wrong and he beckoned them over.

“What is it, mate?” A man’s voice. Louis didn’t look up.

“Look,” he said. “What does it say?” He turned his palm towards the man.

“Um, Dr. Pullman, one o’cl-”

“No, no, _underneath_.” Louis shoved his hand under the man’s nose, growing a little hysterical in his urgency. Harry would know. Harry, with his soulmate sixth sense would be able to read it.

“Oh, er, April twenty-third, one...oh, man, is that your mark? Did you just get your mark? Congrats!”

“Yes, but I can’t fucking read it!”

He whirled around for someone else and spotted the girls from Marketing having lunch at their desks across the floor. He bolted for them.

They startled when he stumbled over hand first, and gave him annoyed looks until they realised what was happening. As soon as it dawned on them, they got up and swarmed him, grabbing at his wrist.

“Tower Bridge,” one said. “It says Tower Bridge for sure.”

“No, that’s not a ‘T’,” another argued, yanking Louis’ hand her way. “Lambeth.”

“Those are all too far,” the third one said. “It’s supposed to be close enough he has a chance, isn’t it? Did you just get it?”

“I don’t know,” Louis said, bouncing on the balls of his feet, wanting to run. He kept thinking about Harry. About how much he wanted to call him.

Louis had moved to London after uni and, after moving from job to job for a couple of years, he had gotten a position in Purchasing at Harvey Nichols. Harry had opted for Manchester, where he knew someone who owned a gym and offered him a position as a physical therapist there. His interview was in London, Louis knew, but he hadn’t asked for the details, and Harry hadn’t offered them either.

Meeting was never something they talked about seriously, even though they spent their childhoods only a few kilometers apart. Even at thirty, after two decades of friendship, Louis only knew what Harry looked like based solely on the description he had sent Louis on his very first letter.

_(Dear Louis,_

_My name is Harry Edward Styles. I am 10 years old and I live in Cheshire. I have brown hair and blue eyes, but my mum says they are green. I don’t know. I have a sister called Gemma and a dog called Coffee. I like football. What about you? I like your name. My mum says it’s French. Are you French?_

_Sincerely,  
Harry.) _

Louis had kept the letter all through his childhood and teens, had moved it across the country twice and now stored it with all his important documents in a drawer in his flat. Reading it always made his heart swell, so fond and full it felt as if it might burst with it.

“So, blue or green?” he’d asked Harry once. They were twenty-five and twenty-four and Harry was still waiting for his mark, only just settling into his job at the gym and still touch-starved and ringing Louis for company when he wanted to get off. Louis was in the middle of a messy breakup, stressed from work and busy flat-hunting.

Somehow it all fell away when Harry called.

“W-what?” Harry asked, confused, voice hoarse as it always got when he was biting down all the noises he wanted to make.

“Your eyes,” Louis clarified, running his finger up and down his bare thigh. “You used to think they were blue, but your mum said they were green, remember?”

“D’you have to bring up my mum?” Harry asked, all scandalized as if Louis were the inappropriate one here. “I’ve got a dick up my arse, Louis.”

“You’ve got a _rubber_ dick up your arse, love, it’s not gonna get offended if you answer a simple question.”

Harry groaned and Louis smiled to himself.

“So?”

“Green,” Harry mumbled, his breaths coming out in puffs against the receiver. “Happy?”

“And still got the brown hair?”

“Yeah, Louis, brown hair. Why’re you asking me _now_?” he complained and Louis snorted.

“Maybe because I love to listen to you be whiny,” he muttered. He made a circle with his fingers and jerked himself slowly, focusing on Harry’s soft moans and the rhythmic creak of the mattress coming through the phone.

“Got it all in?” he asked.

“ _Nghages_ ago, Louis.”

“Don’t pout, Haz, what’s the hurry?”

“ _Lou_ ,” Harry begged and Louis folded immediately. He let go of himself and rolled over, his mobile sliding down his pillow to rest against his shoulder. He pressed his hips against the mattress and exhaled, loud so that Harry could hear.

“What d’you want? Want to fuck yourself with it or sit on it and ride it for a bit?”

“You, you tell me,” Harry gasped out. “You tell me, Lou.”

Louis sort of wanted to leave Harry as he was a bit longer. He wanted him to lie on his back, knees up against his chest, all exposed to his empty room. Wanted his cock to drip onto his stomach, untouched until Louis said otherwise.

But Louis also wanted to come, and that wasn’t happening until Harry did.

“Want you to get your hand wet and bring yourself off,” he said, dragging his prick against the bed, legs sliding apart as he bore down. “Don’t touch the dildo until I say, okay?”

Harry didn’t answer, but Louis was more than familiar with what he sounded like when he was tugging on his cock. He was usually quiet and breathless until he wasn’t anymore, keening and whimpering wordlessly, restless enough Louis could hear how he moved around on his bed through the tiny speakers on his phone. When Harry started moaning in earnest, pace picking up and breathing going all stuttery, Louis had to grab at the base of his cock and squeeze, lifting his hips off the bed.

“Now, Harry,” he said, tasting the cotton of his pillowcase. “Fuck yourself, yeah? Don’t let go of your cock, jus’...pull the toy out and back in, you know how, don’t you?”

“Yeah…” Harry groaned and Louis couldn’t see him, he had no idea what Harry looked like, but he could picture him so clearly - a boy on his back, trembling legs in the air, cock in hand. A boy reaching down and around to grab hold of the base of the dildo nestled snugly inside him. Brown hair fanned out on a white pillow, green eyes rolling back before squeezing shut as his arm tensed and his hand moved.

Louis could hear the faint sound of the dildo moving, wet and slow, nearly drowned by Harry’s almost-sobs.

“Go a little faster,” he directed, his own cock twitching and leaving a little puddle of precome on his sheets. He kept his hands fisted on his pillow, hips bucking but not enough to create the friction he needed.

He heard Harry moving faster, gasping every time he pushed the toy into himself and Louis clenched his jaw, shut his eyes, and tried not to picture Harry (brown hair, green eyes) thumbing the head of his cock, skin (light, dark?) glistening with sweat and flushing down to his chest.

“You about there?” Louis asked, voice high and strained. Holding off had been getting increasingly difficult lately. Harry just sounded so pretty, and he was so good at doing what Louis said, no matter how much he whined. It wasn’t really sex (was it?) but it was still the best Louis ever felt, nothing else felt nearly as good, no man he had slept with ever sounded as perfect as Harry did, no one was as lovely and responsive and...Harry wasn’t touching him, not really, and he wasn’t touching Harry, but it sure as fuck felt like it. The way Harry’s deep voice enveloped him, and the way Harry used his hands on himself like they were extensions of Louis’, touching where Louis said, doing what Louis told them to.

“Uh huh,” Harry slurred and then let out a choked off gasp and, with a whimper, there it was, finally.

Louis let him come down, listening to the way he panted against the receiver and made little noises as he, presumably, eased the toy out. Louis’ cock was hard as steel and hot against his skin, trapped between his belly and the mattress. In all the years they’d been doing this, Louis had never come with Harry listening. It had been so long that now it felt like a whole _thing_ , and Louis kept overthinking it and growing way too self conscious. Harry never said anything about it, but he surely noticed it. He had to have noticed it.

“Mmh,” Harry hummed. His voice always got so much lower after he came. It made Louis shiver, goosebumps erupting on his arms and the small of his back. “That was nice, Lou.”

Louis throat clicked as he swallowed.

“Yeah,” he agreed. “More than.”

“I can’t even,” Harry started, audibly shifting in bed, “like, imagine it getting any better. You know, with our soulmates and stuff.”

“You only say that ‘cause no one’s touched your prick other than yourself,” Louis told him, even though he felt the same way. He turned onto his back. The cold air on his front made him flinch and he pulled his sheets around himself, still hard.

“Um, actually, er,” Harry mumbled and Louis froze, heart pounding.

“What?”

“I...I might have let someone other than myself touch my prick.”

Louis blinked, honestly shocked. Harry had been adamant about waiting for ten years by then, stubborn and hard-headed as always - just the week before he had been telling Louis about how some people at the gym thought something was wrong with him for being single by choice.

“I could be asexual for all they know,” he’d told Louis in an indignant huff. “Or...whatever. Some people don’t need to be in a relationship to feel fulfilled.”

Louis had said nothing because he knew that Harry was not asexual and that he was dying to be in a relationship, he was just more determined to be part of a fairytale than anything else.

“Who?” Louis asked now, curious but not exactly sure he wanted to know. This was new territory - Harry’d never had any hookups to talk about - and there was a worrying hollow in the pit of Louis’ stomach just thinking about it. At least his cock was soft now.

“Just some bloke at a club,” Harry said, and he didn’t sound all that happy to be talking about it either.

“What did he do?” Louis heard himself ask. He didn’t want to know.

“Um,” Harry faltered. “Just, um, he tossed me off. In the loo. It was a bit gross.”

“Was it.”

“Yeah, nothing like this. There’s nothing like this.”

“Yeah?” Louis asked, spirits lifting a little, but that only made him more uncomfortable. He had been telling Harry to get laid for years, teasing him, joking about it. If he felt like this from an anonymous encounter in a club, how would Louis feel when Harry inevitably met his soulmate?

“Lou,” Harry said, voice lilting up. “Why d’you… You never get off. With me.”

“Oh.” Louis sat up. “No, I-”

“I was thinking…I never do for you what you do for me but- I think I could try. It feels strange that it’s alway just me, doesn’t it?”

“I guess,” Louis said but he wanted to say _no, no it doesn’t feel strange. It’s perfect and I love listening to you._

“We could try together next time,” Harry proposed, sounding more animated. “I...I’d love to hear you. You must sound so good, Lou.”

Shit, Louis was getting hard again.

“Your voice’s my favourite,” Harry said softly and Louis swallowed around a whimper, falling back against his pillow. “You never get hard when we…talk? Like this?”

“Fuck’s sake, Harry, ‘course I do,” Louis groaned, taking hold of himself and pumping his hand. “M’always hard when I talk to you, honest. Doesn’t matter about what.”

“Really?”

Louis hummed in assent, his free hand rubbing his stomach.

“Are you now? Are you hard now?”

“Yeah, really hard,” Louis sighed, squeezing himself as he slid his hand up to the sticky tip. “You’re so pretty when you come.”

He heard Harry draw in a breath.

“How d’you know?”

“You sound pretty,” Louis told him honestly. “Doing everything I say.”

“Yeah, I like that.” Harry’s voice was a rumble and the sound of it went zipping down to Louis’ dick, making it jump in his hand.

“I know,” he replied. “You love it.”

Louis knew it was weird, no matter what they told each other. It was weird that they still didn’t know what the other looked like, and it was weird that they could talk about anything and everything without reservations. It was weird that they had sex with each other (because it _was_ sex, it was) several times a week - had been for years - and had never touched. It was weird that Louis felt better making Harry come with his voice alone than he did using his mouth any other way with anyone else he’d ever been with.

Someday - maybe soon, maybe not - Harry would get his mark and he would disappear. Someday maybe even Louis would get his mark and he would leave Harry behind. They had said it when they were kids: they would never miss their chance if they got it. Nothing was bigger, more important, monumental or magical than meeting your soulmate.

But at least for now Louis could close his eyes and let Harry talk him into coming into his fist.

 

It was a Monday and it was grey and wet and Louis almost missed his Time because it was scribbled over the fading reminder he had written on his palm that morning and he didn’t know how long it had been there before he finally saw it. It was a Monday and the girls from Marketing were arguing about what his mark said and all Louis could think about was Harry and how he was in his big interview, unreachable.

“It definitely says ‘bridge’,” one of the girls concluded, letting go of Louis’ hand. “Something bridge something. There’re no bridges around here.”

“There’s one at Chiswick Park,” another pipped in. “It’s only five minutes away, less if you run.”

“The office complex? Can I even get in there?” Louis asked and the three girls shrugged, their eyes shining. Louis still couldn’t really believe they were talking about _his_ mark. He stood there, holding his wrist, hands over his chest, and wished Harry were there for the hundredth time. This was a moment like out of a film, and they always watched those together.

“Well? Why are you still here?” One of the girls waved her fingers in front of his face and Louis jumped. “Go! You’ll be late, go on!”

Adrenaline rushed through his body, heart hammering against his ribs and cheeks feeling flushed. He needed to go. Harry would never forgive him if he lost his chance.

He turned on his heel and ran. He took the emergency stairs, two, three at a time, mobile still clutched in his hand, the time flashing at him every time the screen lit up.

1:15 pm.

1:16 pm.

Louis burst out of the building and turned in the direction of Chiswick Park, tearing through the pavement, mindless of the rain, the puddles he kept stepping in, the people jumping out of his way with startled curses.

He ran and his lungs burned and his heart ached but he knew he had to keep going. He tried to let his mind go blank, rushing past townhouses and shops and wondering if Harry was right and he would know his soulmate at a glance. If he would feel something inside him shift for good.

He didn’t even know if he could go inside the complex without some sort of pass but his mark wouldn’t send him there if it wasn’t possible, would it?

(“My friend’s aunt got her mark a few years ago and she had to break into a Tesco at three in the morning,” Harry had said once. “Her soulmate was a burglar and they arrested both of them.”)

He was turning a corner, nearly skidding on the slippery pavement, when he crashed into something with such force he bounced backwards several steps, the breath punched out of him. It took him a disoriented second to realise he had just sent another person flying. There was a man at his feet, long limbs sprawled on the wet floor, a disposable coffee cup in his hand and, fuck, a big coffee stain all over the front of his white button up.

“I’m so, so sorry, mate,” Louis said, offering his hand to the poor sod, who looked dazed and like he didn’t understand how he had ended up on his bum. He stared up at Louis with wide eyes, his mouth parted. “Are you hurt? Can you get up?”

The man nodded a little dumbly and took Louis’ hand. He then turned his bewildered stare to their clasped palms and made no move to get up.

“Are you sure you’re not hurt? Did- Shit, did you burn yourself?” Louis asked him, eyes roaming over the man’s body. He was dressed much like Louis was, slacks, shirt tucked in, shoes polished and shiny. Except the man’s trousers were a light, pinstripe grey instead of Louis’ dark blue, his shoes a little flashier and pointier than Louis’ plain Oxfords. Louis could feel the steel of a couple of rings against his palm. “Mate?”

The man’s eyes flickered back up to Louis’. They were light, big and framed by dark eyelashes. His lips were parted and a bright, glossy pink. Louis watched them move soundlessly for a moment before the stranger seemed to find his voice.

“Louis?” he asked, and Louis’ eyebrows shot up. There was no way he knew this man and didn’t remember him.

“Yeah?”

The stranger’s eyes went, if possible, even wider. His cheeks went from pink to red and he grinned, so big a pair of dimples popped into his cheeks. His front teeth were slightly longer than his others, and his dark hair was frizzy because of the rain, but Louis still felt like he’d been punched in the gut.

“Do I-”

“Lou! It’s me!” The man said, tugging on Louis’ hand. Louis stumbled forward, bent in half, and looked up to find himself centimeters away from the man’s eyes. Blue...no, green, speckles of gold making them sparkle. Green eyes, brown hair. A voice that was even deeper in person and the loveliest way to say Louis’ name.

“Harry?”

Harry didn’t answer. He yanked on Louis’ hand instead and knocked him to his knees so he could be pulled into a tight hug. Louis hugged him back just as hard, mind reeling.

“What’re you doing here?” he asked against Harry’s shoulder. He could feel their chests sticking together thanks to the coffee on Harry’s shirt, water seeping through his trousers where he was kneeling on the rain-slick pavement.

“My interview,” Harry said, squeezing him tighter. “I can’t believe it’s you.”

“Me neither.” Louis could feel a sudden wave of tears coming, his throat going tight. He couldn’t believe he was holding Harry, _Harry_ , who was rubbing his own overwhelmed tears off on Louis’ shoulder. They pulled away to look at each other and Louis drank in the sight.

Harry was…perfect. Even all wobbly and sniffly and giggling as he looked at Louis. Even with coffee on his shirt and wet, messy curls. He had _curls_. He had curls and he felt firm and real under Louis, warm even if it was cold and awful around them.

“You,” Harry laughed, wiping at his cheeks with the back of his hand. “Why were you running like that?”

All of a sudden, Louis’ stomach dropped, body going cold. His mark, his-

He checked his phone. 1:29 pm. He missed it. He looked at his palm. The mark was gone.

“Lou? What’s wrong?” Harry tugged on Louis’ shirt to make him look up. Louis did, meeting wet, glittering eyes and furrowed eyebrows.

“I- I got my mark,” he said and Harry’s face seemed to crumple for a second before he brightened again, somewhat dimmed, smiling big and grabbing Louis’ shoulders.

“That’s amazing, Lou! What does it say? Show me.”

“It’s gone.” He showed Harry his palm and Harry took his hand carefully as he read Louis’ useless note scribbled in pen that morning. “It- I missed it.”

Harry’s look was full of pity and he was just so lovely, exactly as Louis always knew he would be. His face expressive, his hands gentle. Louis really couldn't think about anything else at the moment.

“I’ve got a photo,” he said and unlocked his phone. He pulled up the picture with trembling fingers, eyes darting back to Harry every two seconds to make sure he was really there. Harry had not looked away from him once, his stare heavy and focused. Louis was...fine. He had missed his mark but he’d gotten Harry and he was so _relieved_ -

It had been years since Louis had given up on his mark. Years since he had started to hope it would never appear. He had started wishing his soulmate really did live in Tasmania so that he would never come between him and Harry. And every time the thought came into his head he felt guilty, because there was nothing Harry wished more than to meet his soulmate and run off to be happy with him forever, his missing piece of a puzzle, the one who would get his sense of humour and love him no matter what.

Louis already felt like he filled all the little spaces Harry had to be filled, and he hated to think that there was someone out there who fit either of them better. There couldn’t be, not when they were already so perfect for each other.

Having Harry in front of him only solidified that idea in Louis’ mind. Something in him felt settled looking at Harry, even if he was still coming to terms with the last half an hour of his life.

Not even two months before, Louis had been coming back from work when he’d gotten a text from Harry: _lou i need to talk to u ASAP !!!_

Louis had nearly broken down crying in the middle of the road, suddenly absolutely certain Harry had gotten his mark and wanted to tell Louis he was eloping and adopting five babies.

It was stupid and petty and mean, but Louis didn’t reply to Harry’s message and he didn’t call him. He went home and wallowed for a few hours, trying to come to terms with losing his best friend before he even got to see his face.

Harry eventually called him, and Louis had to answer and try not to sound too upset.

“I’ve got an interview!” Harry cheered in Louis’ ear. “At the place I’ve been telling you about!”

“What?”

“They’ve called me for an interview at the big health center I told you about!”

“Oh,” Louis said, and then, a little surer, “Oh! Congratulations, Haz. I knew they’d call you. You should always listen to me.”

“Yeah,” Harry agreed, but his voice had gone husky and low. “About that….”

“Yeah?” Louis smiled to himself, letting relief wash over him, pushing the guilt and the worry aside.

“Was thinking maybe I deserve a celebratory orgasm,” Harry said, shameless as usual.

“You think so?”

“Mmh,” Harry hummed. “But you took too long, so I started without you.”

“Did you?” Louis asked, already feeling his shoulders loosen and his cock stirring. Harry gave him whiplash.

“I wanted you to be the first one I told but you didn’t ring,” Harry said, sighing. Louis wanted to be the first Harry told everything to forever. He was selfish and Harry would hate him if he ever found out how much Louis wished he never, ever got his mark.  

He never stopped to consider he might be the one to get it before Harry.

“Here,” Louis said on that Monday as he turned the his phone towards Harry. Harry took it from him and squinted at down at the screen. He examined the photo of Louis’ palm for what felt like a whole minute, both still sitting on the ground, the people walking around them giving them weird looks and wide berths.

When Harry looked back up, there was something in his expression that put Louis on alert.

“What?” he asked, rising a little on his knees.

“Hammersmith Bridge Café,” Harry said, returning the phone.

“Oh.” Louis looked down at the picture and yeah, it did say that. Now that he wasn’t panicking, it was quite clear, actually. Still, he didn’t even know the place. He didn’t care. It was actually incredible how much he didn’t care. “Well, I missed it anyway. You can add me to the list of people you know with failed soulmark stories, yeah?”

But Harry was still staring at him, chewing on his lip.

“What is it?” Louis asked him and Harry, very slowly, picked up the to-go cup he had dropped on the floor and showed it to Louis.

 _H.B. Café_ it said in blue letters, a picture of a bridge below it. Louis looked at Harry, and Harry looked behind him, towards the shop he had been exiting when Louis barreled into him.

Louis looked, too.

 _Hammersmith Bridge Café_ it said on the window in loopy gold lettering and Louis’ stomach swooped, his entire body going hot at once.

“What-”

“I didn’t see a mark,” Harry said, ten steps ahead of Louis. “I check everyday.”

“When did you check last?” Louis asked, urgency slipping into his tone even though it didn’t _matter_.

“This morning.”

“I didn’t have it this morning.”

“I-” Harry put up his arms. His sleeves were rolled up to his elbows, and he checked wherever he could, twisting to cover every bit of bare skin he was showing, which wasn’t much. “It could’ve faded already. Like yours.” He sounded so hopeful Louis had to bring him close again and hug him.

Harry melted into it, hugging back, clinging a little.

“You want it? To match mine?” he asked, a little afraid of the answer but daring anyway.

“Of course, Lou,” Harry said and Louis clawed at his back, wanting him even closer.

“It could still be there,” Louis said into Harry’s ear. “Somewhere we can’t see.”

Harry pulled away to look at Louis in the eye, and a second later they were scrambling to their feet and Harry was taking Louis’ hand and pulling him into the cafe. They stumbled inside, drawing everyone’s attention, but Harry didn’t stop. He walked them across the floor and towards the back, where the restrooms were.

“Sorry, sorry, it’s an emergency, sorry,” he kept saying as they weaved through tables and stunned, staring servers. “We’ll buy something before we leave, sorry.”

Louis felt laughter bubbling up in his chest and he cracked up as he let Harry steer him forward, giddy, still unable to believe it was _Harry_ holding his hand. Harry who wanted his mark to match Louis’.

They reached the restrooms and Harry ushered Louis inside, bouncing on his feet with an anxious grin on his face. The door closed behind them with a thump and Harry locked it before his hands went straight to his belt.

Louis had never seen anyone undress as quickly and unabashedly as Harry did right then. He stepped out of his shoes and dropped his wet trousers on the tile, not caring that they were in a public bathroom, letting his clothes puddle at his feet as he checked every bit of skin he uncovered.

Louis wanted to help, but he couldn’t stop himself from being distracted by all the pink, all the freckles, the small scar on Harry’s hip, the patch on his thigh where the hair grew thin and sparse. He was beautiful, Louis thought. Even more so than anything Louis might have imagined over the years. Harry’s legs were long, his knees knobby and his thighs plump. He had tattoos all over his torso and down his arm, and every time a new one appeared, Louis’ heart skipped a beat. His shoulders were broad and his hips were very narrow. He stood with his toes pointing inwards, still wearing his socks.

Harry twisted this way and that checking himself, and Louis went around him to look at him from behind, dying to touch. Harry even checked the soles of his feet, his face growing more pinched and upset with every inch of himself he uncovered and still no mark in sight. Louis wanted to tell him it’d be okay, he didn’t care. He didn’t care if Harry wasn’t his soulmate, if he’d missed the real one, he had been wishing to have Harry to himself for a long time, and the thrill of seeing his soulmark had been nothing compared to the wonder of seeing Harry for the first time.

But Harry kept checking until he was down to his pants, and then his shoulders slumped, and he looked so dejected it nearly broke Louis’ heart.

“It might’ve vanished when we bumped into each other, love,” Louis told him, stepping close. He dared to bring his hands up to Harry’s bare chest and he pressed both palms there, feeling Harry’s racing heart beneath warm skin and soft muscle. The touch drew a shaky sigh out of Harry, and he put his big hands over Louis’ and pressed him closer.

“I haven’t finished checking,” he said.

They both looked down at Harry’s crotch, his pink and grey briefs and the soft bulge between his thighs.

“That’d be an awkward story to tell the kids,” Louis said and Harry laughed, loud, the same way he always did, the way Louis knew so well. Except he’d never _seen_ it before. Harry’s face scrunched up when he laughed, and his dimples dug in deep into his cheeks. His tongue poked out between his teeth and his cheeks went even pinker.

“I don’t care,” Harry said, smiling all crooked, squeezing Louis’ fingers. “Lou, I don’t-”

“Check,” Louis cut him off. No matter what Harry said, he did care. He’d been waiting his whole life for it, and he would never settle for Louis, not for a placeholder. “It’s okay.”

“I...I don’t want to,” Harry admitted, dropping his gaze. “I want it to be you. I’ve wanted it to be you for a long time.”

Louis felt a pang in his chest and he wanted to cry again.

“Me, too,” he said softly and Harry lifted his gaze again. “But you should still check.”

Harry nodded even as he looked at Louis pleadingly, doing as he was told but clearly wishing he didn’t have to. Louis kept his eyes on Harry’s face as he fumbled with the elastic of his pants and checked his prick, because soulmarks were a bitch and Harry’s grocer had found his mark there years ago when he was having a wee. Louis didn’t look down but he saw Harry’s face fall, and that was enough.

“It’s okay,” he said, voice wavering. Harry shook his head.

“I kept you from him,” he said. “You would’ve found him if we hadn’t-”

“I’d rather stand with you in this smelly loo for a decade than ending up with a fucking stranger because the universe is bloody clueless,” Louis said, firm now, so close to Harry his breaths ruffled Harry’s hair. “I don’t care what the mark said, you’re it for me, I know it. I feel it, Harry. Don’t you?”

Harry nodded but he still looked miserable.

“It feels like everyone says it’s supposed to,” he said quietly.

“Yeah,” Louis agreed. It did feel like everyone said it did, like Harry had always described it should. Like being looked at for the first time. So it made no sense-

“Your bum,” he said, inching his hands close enough to touch the tips of his fingers to Harry’s waist. “You forgot your bum.”

Harry’s eyes went wide and he turned around, giving Louis a good look of his broad, lovely back.

“Check for me.”

“You sure put out fast for someone who won’t let anyone but his soulmate touch him,” Louis tried to joke, but his fingers dug into the soft flesh of Harry’s hips. He looked at the back of his neck and down at the swell of his arse, covered by soft, stretchy fabric. 

“As if you haven’t been fucking me for years,” Harry mumbled, head bowed, and Louis’ breath hitched.

“That wasn’t- I never got to see you, or, or feel you. It wasn’t for real.”

Harry shrugged, “It felt quite real to me.”

“Harry-”

“Check, Lou. Please.”

Louis hooked his fingers on the elastic resting just below the dimples on the small of Harry’s back. He braced himself and slid the fabric down. He could barely stand to look, but his eyes were still fixed to the pale skin he uconvered, a centimetre at a time. He pulled Harry’s briefs halfway down his cheeks before he stopped.

He stopped and stared. He held his breath and thumbed at the mark stamped on the lower half of Harry’s right cheek, Louis’ own handwriting scribbled there, the words clear and real and right _there_ at Louis’ fingertips.

 **23 04**  
**13:21**  
**Hammersmith Bridge Café**

“Haz,” Louis managed to choke out, tears clogging his throat. “It-”

“It’s not there?”

“No, it- Fuck, lemme-” He took his phone from his pocket and aimed it at Harry’s bum, not feeling even a little bit creepy about it. The shutter went off and Harry flinched and turned around, tears clouding his eyes. Louis turned the screen towards him for the second time that day, this time to show him a blurry version of their ( _their_ ) mark, and he watched as Harry’s face went through ten different emotions in two seconds before he covered it with his hands.

Before Louis could react, Harry threw his arms around his neck and buried his nose in his hair, probably getting it all wet and snotty but Louis honestly didn’t give a shit. He was standing in a public restroom, Harry half hanging out of his underwear, both of them crying and smiling so hard it hurt, and Louis didn’t wish he were anywhere else in the world.

“I knew it’d be perfect. I knew it,” Harry mumbled against Louis’ cheek and Louis knew Harry had, and he’d always known he was good luck. When they kissed - off-center and wet and smiling - it was everything Louis had never felt before. It was everything Harry always said it would be.

It was fireworks and magic and a bloody miracle, and it was going to be theirs forever.


End file.
